


Blue

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Archer got beat up by the Andorians, and Reed comforts him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: Andorian Incident  


* * *

"Come."

The door opened and he stood there, backlit by the lights of the corridor, his face in shadows.

"Hi."

He smiled slightly, nervously. "Hi. Want company?"

"Yeah," I said, watching as he came in, his hands gripping each other as he looked at me with worried eyes. I love that expression, the uncertain look he gets when he wants to say something but can't quite get it out. 

"How do you feel?" he asked, moving closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

I was sitting there too, my torso uncovered. Peppering my chest were bruises put there by the Andorians. They were smaller and less painful, Phlox's combination of regenerative experimentation and drugs helping with the healing part. It didn't do much for the outward appearance however. That part had drawn Malcolm's eyes and he stared at my chest with a pained expression.

"It looks worse than it feels," I said, wanting to break the silence.

"It looks awful," he said, reaching out to touch my chest. He gently touched a bruise on my side and I braced myself not to flinch. He had that look on his face, that look of self recrimination and I didn't want to be responsible for keeping it there. 

"It doesn't hurt a lot," I repeated, relaxing my body as his fingers lightly moved from bruise to lump to bruise again. "That feels good."

He glanced up, surprise on his face. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You never could," I said with conviction and he sighed, his burden lightened slightly. 

"They were brutal," he said, watching my face.

I shrugged and rose, pulling a t-shirt over my head with a slight groan. He rose and tugged on the back, pulling the soft cotton over my back, covering the bruises completely. I could see the relief in his eyes. "She didn't know, did she," he stated rather than asked.

"No," I told him, confirming what he suspected. 

He considered my expression. "I'd give you a backrub but I think that might not be welcome now."

I pulled him in and hugged him and he gingerly and gently hugged me back. We held each other for a bit and then he sighed, shaking his head.

"That was a close call."

I smiled and squeezed him, turning and limping to the bed. With his help, I sat and lay back, moving my legs to stretch out.

"Probably," I said, half agreeing with him and half not. "I had faced tougher moments when the end felt closer. This was just a beating." I looked at him, standing above me, a worried look on his face. I patted the bed and he hesitated.

"You are too beat up for me to touch you," he said, moving to sit beside me. "I don't know if I can hold you with the bruises you have."

"Humor me," I said, patting the bed beside me again. 

He smiled slightly and then moved, slowly and gently lying down, his body turned to the side, his face settled carefully into the crook of my neck as usual. I felt better and told him so. He smiled.

"I don't know how you can. If someone kicked me in the gut the way the Andorians did I would need a pail."

I remember chuckling, an effort that hurt and he rose up on his elbow, staring down at me with concern. I coughed and looked at him, smiling at his expression.

"The best tonic is you lying here," I assured him and he lay back down again. I don't know how comfortable he was but I felt good. Better. Not bad.

"You're mad you know," he said, sort of out of the blue. He has that way about him, surprisingly introspective, surprisingly off hand. I remember trying to look into his face and he rose up again, repeating what he said.

"Your mad."

"How so?" I asked him, toying with the idea of kissing him silent but figuring my ribs wouldn't stand the strain of it.

"They could have killed you and all you can do is shrug it off. Is that some sort of American trait that I'm going to have to get used to or is it peculiar to you alone?"

I must have stared just a little too long considering his words because his face flushed. Smiling at his confusion, I nodded.

"I'm a little bit mad I suppose," I agreed, sighing painfully. "We must all be being out here. But it's a personal trait I assure you."

He grinned and touched my face, his fingers soft against my skin. Leaning down, he kissed me softly and I remember it being just the right touch. I squeezed his hand and he lay back down again, sighing as he did.

"So, tell me ..."

"What?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

"If Americans are all mad, what are the British? Besides our best friends and allies in all history?"

He chuckled, a soft sound that I loved to hear. For a moment he was still and then he shifted closer, sighing once more.

"We're glad to know you, Yank," he said, as he settled against me. 

I chuckled and kissed his forehead, filled with warmth at his presence. 

"Ditto," I said softly. "Ditto."


End file.
